


Anaesthesia is like an aphrodisiac

by lightyears



Series: Christmasy Christmas [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Confessions, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Sick!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy wakes up after surgery like, 99% sure that Clarke is his girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anaesthesia is like an aphrodisiac

**Author's Note:**

> It's like "drunk confessions" but instead "I think that you're my girlfriend so I'm going to tell you I love you confessions".  
> Abundance of fluff. Let's just pretend I know medical practice and this is correct?

“Don’t come over. Seriously, Clarke.”

_“I’m coming over. Seriously, Bellamy.”_

Bellamy groans, resting his forehead on the lid of the toilet. “I really can’t be fucked having this fight with you right now, Clarke.”

_“Fine,”_ she sighs over the phone. _“Enjoy suffering in pain, loser.”_

“Thanks,” he grumbles, hanging up the phone right before he empties his stomach once more.

To say that today wasn’t going as planned was kind of an understatement. It was two days before Christmas, meaning that everyone had pretty much cleared out of the city to visit their family. Well, everyone except him and Clarke. 

It was the first year that he wouldn’t be spending Christmas with Octavia, and the only reason he wasn’t miserable and trying not to FaceTime her constantly was because Clarke was around too. He wasn’t _happy_ that she had a bad enough relationship with her mother to not want to go home for the holidays, but, well, if she already had the bad relationship and he got the reap the benefits, he wasn’t going to complain.

They were supposed to be spending the night together; getting drunk and watching movies so Bellamy could pretend that _maybe_ there was a chance that she felt the same way about him as he did about her. But instead he feels like his stomach is trying to tear itself apart, and finds himself ready to spend Christmas Eve Eve with a bucket. His life is kind of pathetic.

“Bell?” He hears Clarke call from the door not twenty minutes later. And when did she get a key to his house?

He sighs. Really, he should’ve known she would come over anyway. Their friends aren’t wrong when they say she’s a bit of a mother hen. The only reason he doesn’t join in on the joke is because he wants to avoid being called the dad to Clarke’s mum, because really, that’s just not helping at all.

“Bathroom,” he calls out miserably, and hears Clarke’s footsteps get louder until they stop somewhere behind him.

“Wow, you look like shit.” She sounds cheery, and Bellamy just glares without turning to face her. He doesn’t have the energy.

“Gee, thanks,” he says, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Bell.” 

She steps forward and he feels her kneel behind him. He shivers when she starts rubbing his back, when he feels her lips press onto the back of his head. He’s chalking up to the fact that he’s sick and not because she’s, you know, _her_.

“Merry Christmas to me, yeah?”

She chuckles, and he feels better with the sound. He can feel the vibrations against his skin. 

“Poor baby,” she coos. “I brought over some saltines and flat lemonade if you feel up to eating.”

He groans a little, the thought of anything going into his mouth making him feel even more sick, before leaning back on his heels and turning to face her.

“I’m taking that as a no,” she smiles, standing and helping him up slowly. “Here,” she gives him a glass of water. “To rinse your mouth.”

He smiles sheepishly at her, trying to remember that _she’s a nurse_ and isn’t grossed out by this kind of stuff. But, still. It’s Clarke, and he really doesn’t want her seeing him like this. It's part of the reason he told her not to come.

He brushes his teeth, too, for good measure, before taking the hand she offers and following her into the lounge room. She sets him down with a warning look that means _don’t you dare move_ and spends the next five minutes fussing over him. She puts on _Pirates of the Caribbean,_ which she knows is his guilty pleasure movie, and finds him the blanket that his mother knit for him when he was younger. It’s his favourite, but he isn’t surprised Clarke knows that. She tucks him in too, and he shivers again when she places her cool hand on his forehead.

“You feel a little warm,” she comments, carding a hand through his hair absently before she stands up again. “But you’re shivering, too.”

She finds him a bucket, and brings over some water and the saltines and lemonade she brought, and Bellamy thinks he’s kind of in love with her. She settles next to him and starts massaging his feet and yeah, he's definitely in love with her. He’d think about it some more if his whole abdomen wasn’t cramping so much, but that’s just one too many things to think about right now, and it's definitely not something he’s ready to analyse in this state. 

“Do you think it’s food poisoning?” She asks, and he shrugs.

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay well, what else are you feeling?” He shrugs again and Clarke sighs.

“I don’t know. Nauseas, achey.”

“Could be the flu. Do you have a sore throat or anything? Headache? Runny nose?”

“A little headache, but I think that’s just because I’ve been throwing up for the past twenty minutes.”

“Mmm,” she hums, a cute little frown settling on her face.

“You don’t have to go all Nurse Clarke on me, princess,” he smirks (well, the best he can. It might be more of a grimace). 

She tuts at him, swatting his legs for good measure, but doesn’t respond. He watches her go through a mental list of symptoms, looking back to him every few moments with a quizzical gaze. 

He clenches his face when the dull pain makes way for a more severe sharpness at one particular point in his abdomen. In the back of his mind he wonders whether this is what period cramps feel like, and he really hopes not, because going through this every month? Fuck.

“What was that?” Clarke demands, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “You look like you’re in pain. Not just nauseas and achey.”

“Yeah, I’m achey. In my abdomen. It hurts.”

“Bell!” She chastises, standing from the couch to hover over him. She has her hands on her hips and is glaring at him, and Bellamy really shouldn’t find her attractive like this, but again, he’s not really ready to analyse that. “In pain is different from achey, jeez. You’re like, the worst sick person ever.”

She kneels in front of him on the couch and tugs the blanket off him. When she shucks up his top he tries to hide his quick inhale of breath, but from the small smirk she sends his way, he fails. Her smirk turns into a wince when he grunts as she presses her hands against his skin. 

“So you’ve got pain in your abdominal area?” She asks, touch gentle but sure.

“Yeah,” he says through gritted teeth, hissing when she hits the particularly tender spot.

“And it's painful just here?”

“Yeah. Just now though. Before it was more of a general shitty ache.”

She sighs, rocking back on her heels and lowers his top back down.

“Well, abdominal pain can be a few things, but that place right there? McBurney's point. Pain there is often a sign for appendicitis.”

“Appendicitis?” He groans, because really? Worst Christmas ever.

She worries her lip a little. “Yeah. Look, obviously I can’t know for sure; other stuff can make that spot tender, and your appendix might not even be there in the first place, but we should go to the hospital. Better to be safe than sorry, right?”

“Fuck,” he mutters, pushing himself off the couch. “And how much is this going to cost me?”

She helps him up and kisses him on the cheek. “We’ll figure it out together, Bell.”

A few hours later he’s being told he needs surgery, and he’s really trying _not_ to think about how much this is going to cost him.  Clarke stays with him through it all, and is able to pull a few strings at the hospital to get him a private room, which doesn’t really seem fair, but. He’s about to go into surgery, he feels like he deserves it. 

She kisses him goodbye on the cheek with the promise of “I’ll be here when you wake up,” and the next thing Bellamy knows he’s being wheeled into an OR and told to count down from ten.

“Ten,” he starts, already blinking a few times. “Nine...eight…” He feels his consciousness drift. “Seven…si-”

*

The first thing he registers as consciousness seeps back into him is the beeping of machines. They slowly become louder, in the familiar way an alarm does when you’re waking up. The second is the feel of a weight on his leg and pressure in his hand. In the back of his mind he realises that someone’s holding it - the warm feeling of fingers curled around his own - and he feels the tiniest of tugs at his lips.

He feels groggy and a little confused, and he opens his eyes slightly to find a dull, white ceiling staring back at him. He blinks a few times, recognising that he’s in a hospital room, although he’s not sure why, and looks down to see a mop of blonde hair on his leg.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, glad that it isn’t as dry as it was when he first woke, and looks around. It’s dark outside, but the room is illuminated in a dull, white light, which allows him to see. And it doesn’t look like a normal hospital room, no. There are…things around it, making the otherwise sterile, white room fill with colour and warmth. They’re decorations, he realises after narrowing his eyes a little. Decorations? 

_Christmas_ , his brain whispers to him, and his eyes find a small, seemingly fake Christmas tree in the corner of the room to confirm his suspicions. There aren’t any presents or baubles, but colourful lights ring around it, emitting a small colourful glow to the area. He didn’t think hospitals would do this, but apparently they do. He wonders absently what they do when people don’t celebrate Christmas; it seems a little presumptuous. But Bellamy likes it and he can’t really register much else. 

And there’s more. He turns his head slowly, finding a reindeer and Santa figurine on the bedside table next to a vase of flowers. They look familiar, but he can’t focus on them long enough to recognise where from. There are a few candy canes as well, one which is half eaten and messily wrapped up in a small amount of plastic. There’s a wreath on the door, and he thinks the little green leaves on the trimming around the door is…mistletoe? Again, it’s weird that a hospital would do that, but. Maybe they’re really into hooking people up during the holiday season? There’s a stocking as well, and it says his name in the same swirly handwriting that belongs to his sister. That just seems like overkill, really. Why would they write his _name_ on it? And how do they know that he goes by Bell? All in all, he's confused but still content.

He shifts a little in the bed, hearing a small sigh that doesn’t sound like it came from his mouth. He looks down again, finding the mop of blonde curls still on his leg, and finally registers that it’s a person. A person who now seems to be awake. She looks up to him, her face familiar yet a little unreachable. 

“Hey, sleepy head,” the girl says, which is funny considering she’s the one who just woke up. A gorgeous sleepy smile graces her face, and he doesn’t really know what to say when she’s looking that beautiful.

“Hey,” he gets out, tightening his grip on the hand still in his. He tries to sit up a little, but his body doesn’t really respond that well. “Who?…” he trails off.

The girl smiles warmly at him, a little cheeky thing that seems to hold both promises and secrets, and strokes his hand with her thumb. 

“Clarke.”

“Clarke,” he repeats, feeling himself smile drowsily at the word. Because it’s _Clarke._ How could he forget that?

“You might be a little drowsy while the anaesthesia wares off, so don’t worry too much.” She seems to read his thoughts. “How are you feeling?” He groans a little, pulling a small chuckle from her. “That good, huh?”

She starts to stand up, pull her hand from his and he whines. Just a little. It isn't  _that_ pathetic. 

“Don’t go.”

“I just want to let them know that you’re awake,” she tells him with a warm smile. “I’ll be two secs.”

She tries to pull her hand from his again, but with all the strength he can manage (which doesn’t seem like a lot), he holds onto it. 

“No,” he insists.

“Okay, okay,” she says calmly, as if placating a child, “I’ll just text someone.”

He nods a few times, watches as she settles back in her chair. _She looks beautiful_ , he thinks. Like an angel, with her ivory skin and glowing blonde hair. It fans out a little messily around her shoulders, like she’s been running her hands through it, and he wants to as well. She’s wearing a big, navy hoodie and…is it his? He thinks it’s his. Why is she wearing his jumper? She smiles down at him after sending a text, brings his hand up to kiss each of his knuckles, and _god_ he loves her. His girlfriend, he thinks. He loves his girlfriend. 

“Kiss,” he says suddenly, and she looks a little taken aback.

“What?”

“Gimme kiss,” he breathes out, snuggling further into the bed.

She stares at him in amusement, although he can’t figure out why. He watches as she stands up and leans forward, pressing her lips to his forehead. They’re soft and lovely, and he wants to feel them against his own. He wants to tell her that, but he suddenly focuses on something else.

“What’s happening?” Why is he actually here?

“You don’t remember?”

He tries to, tries to focus on anything except the smell of her, the warmth of her body hovering over his, but he can’t. He shakes his head no.

“You had appendicitis. Inflammation of the appendix.” She’s stroking his cheek with her thumb, and he would try to capture her lips if he could muster up the strength, but he can’t. “So you had an appendectomy to remove it. You’re just in hospital now, waking up from the surgery.” 

The information starts to click, and memories slowly start creeping back.

He nods, and then “Octavia?”

“She’s upstate with Lincoln, remember? I told her not to come down because the tickets are too expensive right now and you would be angry at her for worrying.”

“Good,” he says, blinking a few times. She laughs, beaming down at him and seriously, she’s so “Pretty.”

“What?”

“You’re pretty,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. He hears a small intake of breath, and her thumb stops moving along his face, which - he doesn’t like that. “Beautiful,” he drawls, reaching an arm out wildly until he feels her curls in his hand. They feel as good as he expected.

“Bell?”

He opens his eyes, finding her bright, blue ones, gorgeous as ever, wide and boring into his. 

“Princess,” he counters, smiling up at her sleepily. A small smile pulls at her lips and Bellamy moves his hand from her hair to brush them lightly with his thumb. “Beautiful,” he says again, his hand falling down to his chest when it becomes too much effort.

Clarke settles back into her chair, dragging it closer to him, and Bellamy smiles, moving his hands to find hers. She squeezes them when he does, and he relishes in the feel of her fingers curled around his, so soft and warm. He brings them to his face, kisses them both before allowing them to settle on his chest.

He’s loved Clarke for a long time, he thinks. He can’t remember exactly, but they must have been dating for a while. They were spending Christmas together, after all, and she’s the one who’s waiting for him in hospital. He’s going to marry her, he decides, because she’s just. She’s everything, really. She’s the person who makes him laugh and smile more than anyone else. The person who will spend an hour trying to cheer him up if he’s had a shitty day, whether it be with cuddles and Netflix, or by teasing him relentlessly. She rolls her eyes and scoffs at him a lot, which he likes too. She doesn’t take his shit. Never, he thinks. He can't remember her being anything but stubborn and strong-headed. And he likes having someone like that. Arguing with her, riling her up, is probably one of his favourite pass-times. But she also lets him be him. She lets him be upset or angry or annoyed, and even when she probably disagrees with him, she’s always there. And that’s just - he wants her to always be there for him, just like he wants to always be there for her. So yeah, he’s going to propose to her, and he’s going to marry her, and he’s going to start a family with her.

The door to the room opens, startling Bellamy a little, and he opens his eyes to find a petite girl with wide doe eyes and dark hair walking towards him.

“Hey, Maya,” Clarke greets, smiling at the girl.

“Hey, Clarke,” the girl - Maya - smiles back. “And Bellamy Blake,” she looks over a chart before setting it on the end of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he grins happily, feeling a sense of relief that Clarke, the girl he loves, is by his side, is holding onto his hand in support.

“That’s good,” Maya chuckles a little, glancing at Clarke quickly. “I’m just going to check up on you, okay? Make sure everything’s going well.”

“Okay,” he says, looking to Clarke for confirmation. She nods and smiles, so he thinks he’s alright. 

“Do you want to tell me a bit about yourself, Bellamy?”

She’s probably just indulging him because he’s a little loopy and dazed right now, but. Oh well, he’s happy to talk.

“‘M Twenty nine,” he starts. “High school teacher.” Clarke squeezes his hand and smiles. 

“History nerd,” she quips.

He chuckles a little, squeezing back. “History nerd, apparently.” He hears Maya giggle as well, and looks up to see her writing down information on his chart. “Got a younger sister, O.”

“Octavia,” Clarke amends.

“Octavia,” he agrees with a nod. “Clarke’s my girlfriend,” he finishes with a little sigh. 

He sees Maya raise her eyebrows and look at Clarke pointedly, but he doesn’t really get why. Clarke’s hand has gone a little slack in his hand, so he tightens his hold on it, not wanting to lose her warmth.  When he looks at her, her eyes are wide and confused, maybe even a little…hopeful? He doesn’t really get that either. 

“That’s nice,” Maya responds in a sweet voice.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“I’m just going to check your stitches, okay, Bellamy?”

“M’kay."

Clarke helps Maya strip the blanket down before pulling up the hospital gown. Maya checks his abdomen, and Clarke leans over a little so she can observe as well. When satisfied, they get him conformable again and Maya writes down once more on the chart.

“You’re looking good, Bellamy. You should be able to leave later in the day if everything continues down this path. Just get some rest, okay? We’ll have someone check on you in a little while to make sure you’re not in any pain.”

“M’kay,” he responds again, already feeling his body relax as sleep seeps back into him. 

She leaves with a little nod and smile to Clarke, and when he and Clarke are alone again, Bellamy takes her hand. Closing his eyes, he sighs, feeling warm and content.

“‘M gonna marry you one day, princess,” he tells her without opening his eyes.

“Bell,” she whispers, hand tightening in his.

“Gonna marry you and have a baby and…” he snuggles further into the blankets, feeling sleep start to take over. “Be happy.”

“Okay, Bell,” she whispers again, and he vaguely feels pressure on his forehead. Like a kiss? He thinks it’s a kiss.

“I love you,” he mumbles finally.

The last thing he hears before he falls asleep entirely is a soft “I love you, too.”

*

Bellamy wakes up suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath. He blinks a few times, ridding the sleep from his eyes as he takes in his surroundings. He’s in a hospital bed he realises - it’s a little on the harder side, but nothing he isn’t used to, and the blanket is warm if a bit scratchy. The room itself is pretty typical for a hospital, white walls with bright lights, however there are Christmas ornaments decorating it, which he recognises as a combination of his and Clarke’s.

It fills Bellamy's heart with a warmth he knows is love, and a smile pulls at his lips. The thought of her doing all of this for him is just - a lot. In the best way possible. He vaguely remembers having seen her already, which means he must’ve already woken up since the surgery. But he can’t really pick anything that happened, just the general feeling of being with Clarke, the feeling of being safe, maybe even loved.

It’s only after he’s taken everything in that he registers the ache in his body. He just had surgery, so of course he’s feeling sore, but still - it’s upsetting. He groans, pushing himself up a little, and tries to find something around him. He’s not really sure what he's looking for - a glass of water, a phone, a way to let people know he’s awake and wants pain relief? - but b efore he can figure it out, a woman walks into the room. 

“You’re awake,” she says brightly. “I’m Maya, one of the nurses on call at the moment. I checked in on you after the surgery?” He must look confused, because she just smiles warmly. “It’s okay. The anaesthesia can make you a little groggy. It might take a while for you to remember.”

He nods a few times as she approaches.

“Uh, Clarke?” He asks hopefully.

Her smile is a little sly which worries him for some reason. “Don’t worry, Mr. Blake, your girlfriend’s still here. Just gone to grab something to eat, I think.”

_Girlfriend?_ What the hell?

“Um,” he huffs a breath. “Girlfriend? Why would you think that?” He hopes his voice doesn’t sound too hopeful, but he’s not betting on it.

She arches an eyebrow, looking incredibly amused before she jots some points down on his chart while checking all the machines around him.

“That’s what you told me. When I came in to check on you earlier,” she clarifies, “you told me that Clarke was your girlfriend.”

Bellamy's whole face drops and he feels dread flush through his body. He did _what?_ That’s just - not good. And of course he fucking did that. Because who doesn’t call the girl they’re in love with their girlfriend to a nurse who is coworkers with said girl when groggy after surgery? Really.

He groans a little, lifting a hand to rub at his temple, and tries not to hold it against Maya when she chuckles. 

“Don’t worry, I think she was okay with it,” she winks. 

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“I’m just going to check your stitches again, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

She nods and does her work, noting a few things before settling him back into bed. 

“Is there anything I can get for the pain?” He asks. There’s a knock on the door, and the pair of them turn to find Clarke standing with a takeaway cup of coffee and a bottle of water.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maya smirks with a wink, and leaves the room with a smile for Clarke. 

Clarke smiles back and walks into the room slowly, obviously feeling a little apprehensive.

“Hey,” she says softly, sitting in the chair next to his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just had surgery,” he grumbles, making her laugh. He’s glad he’s able to do that after what he apparently said. He’s taking it as a good sign. “What time is it?”

She checks her watch. “Just past eight,” she tells him. “You’ve been asleep for a while. You woke up for about twenty minutes around two.”

He nods a few times, watches as Clarke worries her lips, avoids eye contact. “Yeah, I was pretty out of it.”

She snaps her eyes to him. “So you don’t remember anything?”

“Uh, not really,” he says, trying to take in her response. Any sign of - anything, really.

She exhales a breath and nods, pulling a tight smile which he can’t read. He hates that - not being able to read her, not knowing what she’s thinking. 

“Thanks for, uh, waiting up for me. And the room. You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Of course I did, Bellamy. It’s Christmas, and you’re-” she cuts herself off with a little sigh.

“What?”

“You’re my best friend.” He tries not to feel disappointed, because being best friends with Clarke Griffin should be enough. And it is, really. It’s just - if he had a say in the matter, he’d be more.

“Can I get up?” He asks. “To brush my teeth?”

“Oh, right. Sure.” She stands up and helps him out of bed. “Your toothbrush is already in there.”

“Cool, thanks.” 

Clarke sighs, falling back into the chair with a _thunk_ while Bellamy goes into the small bathroom attached to his hospital room. He brushes his teeth and wets his face, feeling a little more refreshed before he takes a look at the bandages on his abdomen. When he returns to the main room Maya and a man are also there, talking to Clarke. 

“Bellamy Blake,” the man says, offering a hand. “I’m Nyko Simmons, the doctor looking after your post-op recovery.”

Bellamy shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He walks back to sit against the hospital bed, and Nyko follows him. 

“You should be able to leave by this evening,” he tells Bellamy while looking over his chart. “But we’ll make sure you’re okay before letting you go, even if your girlfriend is one of our best nurses.”

Bellamy chokes on nothing, and snaps his head to see Maya mouth a  _sorry_ to Clarke, who's standing behind him. Bellamy doesn’t dare look at Clarke, doesn’t dare correct Nyko, just stares at the man as he continues looking over the chart, completely oblivious. 

“So we’ll just give you some more medication for pain and you should be good for the next few hours.”

“Okay,” Bellamy nods, then “Thanks.”

“No worries,” he smiles, picking up a little dish on a table and handing it over. There are a few pills in it, and Bellamy downs them with the bottle of water Clarke offers him. 

“Okay Bellamy, we’ll check on you in a few hours, but let us know if you need anything. Or tell Clarke to let us know." He cracks a smile. "I’m sure she won’t be leaving your side any time soon.” 

Bellamy offers what he’s sure is a pathetic attempt of his own, and laughs nervously. “Thanks, Dr. Simmons.”

He nods to both him and Clarke, before leaving the room with Maya. Bellamy sits against the bed for a few more moments, still facing away from Clarke, before he chances a glance at her. She’s sitting now, staring resolutely at her lap, her hands wringing together. She’s nervous. 

Bellamy turns, lifting his legs onto the bed so he’s lying on it again.

“So,” Clarke starts at the same time Bellamy says “I’m sorry.”

They both stop abruptly, staring at each other until Clarke breaks and a small smile appears on her face. Bellamy chuckles and shakes his head.

“I am sorry,” he tells her. “For…you know.”

“So you _do_ remember?”

“No,” he says honestly. “But Maya told me before you came in.”

“Right.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Right.”

“You, um,” he looks to her and watches as she swallows, follows the movement of her throat. “You told me that you loved me. Among…other stuff.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, carding a hand through his hair. Of course he did. He doesn’t even want to know what ‘other stuff’ is right now. “Look, Clarke.” She’s not looking at him so he finds her hand and squeezes it. He means to take it back, but she keeps ahold of it as she finally turns her gaze to him. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, I just - fuck,” he sighs. She’s looking at him like he’s a little crazy, which isn’t helping the matter.

“Just what?” She prompts.

“I just obviously had less of a filter,” he says eventually, choosing his words carefully. 

She shifts in her seat, angling towards him. “Does less of a filter mean that what you said was true?”

He looks into her eyes and finds…hope? Hope, like she wants him to have meant it? Hope, like maybe she feels the same way? He swallows, turning towards her. 

“It was.”

Clarke nods, once, twice, as her eyes flick over his face, and then a final time as they land on his. Bright and blue and beautiful. He could get lost in them.

And then her lips are on his, urgent, and Bellamy's only surprised for a few seconds before he starts responding. His hands move to cradle her face, one to tangle in her hair, and he has a hazy memory that he’s already done this. Hers are on his chest, rubbing little circles onto it as she leans over the bed in what must be an awkward angle. 

She moans into his mouth as his tongue swipes across her lips, and she opens up immediately. She’s wet and warm, more inviting than any other person Bellamy's kissed before, and he could spend all day kissing Clarke Griffin, really. 

His hands move from her head, caressing down her back to palm her ass, and she breaks away from his lips for long enough to climb onto the hospital bed. She flings a leg over him, straddling his lap before connecting their lips again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They continue to kiss, heated, urgent, and a little bit sloppy, until she presses a little too closely to him and he breaks away with a groan at the ache. 

“Shit,” she gasps, moving back in a jerk. “Sorry.”

He laughs, hands moving up to cradle her face again, card through her hair. “Small price to pay, princess.”

Clarke worries her lip, looking incredibly shy with her flushed face and wide eyes. He kisses her again, slower and sweeter this time, and feels her melt into his touch. They rest their foreheads together, their faces close enough for him to feel her breath fanning across his lips.

“I love you, too,” she whispers, pulling back to look him in the eyes, and he remembers the words. In a vague way that feels close to a dream, he remembers. “Even though you haven’t really said it,” she says pointedly.

He laughs, loves feeling her do the same on top of him. “I love you.”

“Well then, I love you, too.”

Bellamy wraps his arms around her and Clarke gently presses against him. All he can feel and see and smell and taste is Clarke Griffin and he never really wants anything else to invade his senses. 

“You know,” she says after a few minutes of just holding each other. “You talked yourself up a bit before.”

“Did I, now?”

“Yep,” she chirps, pulling back once more with a bright smile. “You said you wanted to marry me,” she drawls cheekily, “that you wanted to have babies with me. Basically that you were obsessed with me.”

Bellamy huffs out a laugh, kissing Clarke quickly; just to shut her up and wipe that cheeky, smug grin off her face. 

“I guess I’ll just have to live up to my words then, princess.”

*

And he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff!


End file.
